Hexes and Ohs

by ReGina Welling

  So he says. He never lacked confidence.

  “All right then, how long is it supposed to last?”

  With a twitch of his lips, he said, “Twelve hours.”

  This stupid potion was twisting her up in knots. No way was she willing to remain in this state for twelve hours. “That doesn’t work for me. How do we stop it?”

  “Not possible.”

  “What?” she yelled. Every idiot knew to put a loophole in any potion that fiddled with emotion. An out. A back door. Something!

  She was yelling, and he just shrugged. “There was no need.”

  “You’re making an antidote.” When he didn’t immediately jump to accommodate her, she said through gritted teeth, “Now.”

  And, finally, the laughter she’d been so certain was simmering under the surface broke free. His chuckle was deep and resonant, and she felt it in places she really, really shouldn’t.

  3

  “Help me with my coat?” Bedivere asked after he’d stowed his mini-vacuum.

  That was the cost of beautiful, fitted tailoring, but as she pulled his suit jacket from his broad shoulders, she couldn’t complain. Because yum.

  But it only got better, because while Bedivere in a suit was one thing, Bedivere in a slim-fit button-down was, ah, nice. She wouldn’t let her mind move past nice. Nice worked just fine. Oh, so fine…

  Bedivere cleared his throat.

  At which point she realized she was still holding his jacket, and maybe, just possibly, smelling it. Because he smelled lovely, and his jacket, warm from his body, held traces of his scent. A clean, soapy smell with a hint of citrus and mint.

  She looked up with a guilty start. “Are you sure you didn’t make a mistake and create some kind of aphrodisiac instead?” And as soon as the words left her lips, she could feel the tinge of warmth on her cheeks.

  This time, his chuckle was low and intimate. “I most certainly did not.” He started to roll up his sleeves, exposing muscular forearms. He gestured to a clear area near a small sink and a Bunsen burner. “After you.”

  She perched on a stool nearby, because if he thought she was fetching and carrying for him while he worked, then he could think again. Although after what had happened with his love potion, maybe he wasn’t expecting that. She recalled being clumsy and awkward around him when they’d first met so many years ago, but she hadn’t been in a long time. This truly had been a twist of fate.

  “What has you frowning now?” He glanced down at the notes he’d started. “I’m working on an antidote. That is what you wanted.”

  She shook her head. “Yes, of course. I’m not frowning.”

  Except she had been and still was. Because she couldn’t stop thinking about all that initial awkwardness. How nervous she’d been around him. Bedivere was quite a bit older than her. He was that Bedivere, the knight, the hero, the legend. Not many knew his history, but Glenda had found out shortly after they’d begun a…flirtation. That was all it had been. Certainly. It couldn’t have been more, because he was the Bedivere.

  In retrospect, her awe had been unwarranted. Now she knew the man behind the legend. Kind-hearted, patient, annoyingly self-assured. And it wasn’t like he suited up in his knightly armor and slew dragons these days. He’d adapted to modern life. Thrived, even. He worked with the witches’ council and ran at least one business that she knew of.

  That awkwardness, the clumsiness she’d felt around him, had faded eventually, and they’d been left as they were now. Comfortable. He was to some degree her boss, but only so far as the council was concerned, and that work was a small portion of her life. When they did work together, they did so with ease. They made quite a good team.

  “What are you thinking?” He’d retrieved several items from the shelves lining the lab as she’d wallowed in ancient history and lost possibilities.

  She sighed. “Nothing that needs to be brought out into the light of day, that’s for sure.”

  “Are you sure?” He didn’t look up as he measured out a sickly green liquid into a beaker.

  With much of his focus on creating the antidote, she felt no pressure from him. His blue eyes weren’t drilling into her as if he could peer into her very soul. Even though it hadn’t been exactly what she’d been thinking, on a whim, she asked, “Why haven’t you ever married?”

  He’d been gently swirling a vial of viscous purple fluid over the low flame of the burner. When he heard her question, his hand stilled, but he didn’t look up. After a brief hesitation, he started to swirl the thinning fluid again.

  She shouldn’t have asked. It was none of her business. She picked up a pair of tongs. “Shouldn’t you be using these?”

  He glanced at them but didn’t take them from her. “Probably, but it only needs to be slightly warmer than room temperature.”

  He added the now-thin purple stuff to the beaker of hideous green. As he stirred the resulting concoction with a long-handled iron spoon, he said, “I was. Twice. Both times to mortal women.”

  She didn’t comment, because what was there to say? Foolish man, mortals don’t live that long? He’d known that, as any witch would.

  “There was a witch once, a long time ago, but she wouldn’t have me.”

  She snorted. “Silly woman.”

  He looked at her and quirked an eyebrow. “I tell you that all the time. It’s nice you’ve finally realized.”

  No. That wasn’t what she remembered. That wasn’t right at all. He had it wrong. He was getting so old that he was going senile. She’d been young—and perhaps a little clueless—but not that clueless. No one could be so clueless as to fail to discern the attention of the then much younger Bedivere.

  He’d been a legend. A man of myth.

  Perhaps he’d seemed out of reach to a young witch. A dream that could never be. But even so, even if he spoke the truth, that moment had passed.

  “Watch it. You’ve got smoke coming out of your ears.”

  And there was the man she knew.

  She narrowed her eyes. “What exactly was in that potion? I think your love potion didn’t do at all as it was intended, and most certainly had some side effects.”

  He shut the burner off, covered the beaker with the unfinished antidote in it, and then turned to her. “You simply refuse to see what’s in front of you. How can you be so adept when interfering in others’ love lives, and yet so completely incompetent with your own?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” But she most certainly did. She bit her lip, and his eyes dropped to study her mouth.

  Tracing her jaw with the tip of his finger, Bedivere looked into her eyes. So deep, with those piercing blue eyes, right into her very soul, but then he blinked and, in a relatively normal tone of voice, said, “It wasn’t a love potion.”

  Several seconds passed with his fingers resting lightly against her face, and only when he ran his thumb along her lower lip did she realize she’d opened her mouth in surprise.

  She batted his hand away. “Then what was it?” She snapped out the question, aware not only that she was the one who’d leapt to that conclusion, but also that she was as nervous as that young witch who’d once thought Bedivere so beyond her reach.

  “Just a gentle nudge to allow some friends”—he quirked an eyebrow—“a charming married couple, to be more open with one another. They’ve had a rough time lately, and I made the potion as a favor to both of them.”

  Glenda considered the implications. More open. Honest with oneself. Perhaps that was something she hadn’t always been. Perhaps she had been blind in the past. Blinded by fear or doubt or simply youthful inexperience.

  Since she’d been exposed to the potion, she’d been more annoyed than usual with Bedivere, her patience shorter…and much more attracted. She’d also felt a tug of affection, maybe something more, that she’d buried and hidden so long ago. If she pulled it out now, would that affection have grown over the years?

  Good heavens.

  4

  “We
ll, that’s awkward,” Glenda said.

  He made a small sound in the back of his throat. Agreement? Denial? More likely, a typical noncommittal Bedivere response. The man was infuriating.

  Although there was that look.

  That smoldering, incredibly hot look.

  And the man had just touched her mouth. Oh. There was no mistaking the intimacy of such a touch. She blinked at his now inscrutable expression.

  Perhaps Bedivere wasn’t the noncommittal one. Perhaps Bedivere wasn’t the problem. Math had always served her when making matches, and it was a crutch she desperately wanted to rely on in this tense, and perhaps not entirely awkward, moment. The moment was more than awkward. It was fraught with another kind of tension entirely.

  “I don’t think so.” Bedivere clasped her right hand, the one she’d lifted without conscious thought. “No numbers, no math. That’s not where the answer lies, Glenda. Not this time.”

  Because in lifting her hand, that was exactly what she’d intended to do: take a quick peek at her own probable future. It didn’t quite work that way. Emotion muddled the magic and made the math all wrong. But she’d almost tried, because she was simply that confused.

  His hand felt comfortable in her own. As if it belonged there. But it also made her heart race.

  Bedivere and her…together? That couldn’t be a good idea.

  Could it?

  And then she felt it. His hand slipping from hers. In a flash of self-awareness, of honesty, and of pain, she realized that all those years ago, she’d been the one to let him slip away, not the other way around. He’d never been beyond her reach; she’d simply failed to hang on to the man who’d been right in front of her.

  Not today. Today was a day of hope and dreams. Today was a day to look to the future. Today she was going to hang on.

  She closed her fingers around his and clung tight. With a saucy look—goodness, she hoped it was saucy—she said, “Where do you think you’re going?” And then she went one step further: she tugged him closer.

  His eyebrows rose, but he didn’t resist. In fact, he wrapped his arm around her. “It’s about time.”

  “Shush. You can tell me later about what terrible mistakes I made in the past.” She smiled up into his eyes. “After you’ve kissed me.”

  He chuckled, and his eyes warmed with humor. Well, at first it was humor, then it was something else entirely. Because then he kissed her socks off…or rather her very cute peep-toed Louboutins.

  I hope you enjoyed this look into Glenda and Bedivere’s history and the beginning of their romance. Check out The Goode Witch Matchmaker Collection to see Glenda in all her matchmaking, magical-math-loving glory.

  About the Author

  When Cate’s not tapping away at her keyboard or in deep contemplation of her next fanciful writing project, she's sweeping up hairy dust bunnies and watching British mysteries. Cate writes and lives in Austin, Texas (where many of her stories take place) with her pack of pointers and hounds. She's worked as an attorney, a dog trainer, and in various other positions, but writer is the hands-down winner.

  Cate writes paranormal cozies (Vegan Vamp Mysteries & Death Retired) and romance (The Goode Witch Matchmaker & Lucky Magic) as Cate Lawley and paranormal (Lost Library) & urban fantasy (Spirelli) as Kate Baray.

  Follow Cate online:

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  Lemonade & Love Potions

  A Southern Charms Cozy Mystery

  Bella Falls

  Summary

  Charli Goodwin can’t help herself when it comes to helping out her friends, especially a failed cupid trying to earn his way back into the matchmaking ranks. A singles mingle in her small Southern town should be the perfect event, but trouble with a capital T shows up when someone attempts to boost the odds of love in their favor.

  Sweet Honeysuckle Iced Tea, it’s gonna take more than lemonade and a little magic to help Charli find out what’s wrong, solve the mystery, and save Honeysuckle Hollow from disaster again.

  1

  Spanish moss rustled in the trees with the evening breeze, and the faintest hint of honeysuckle floated in the air. It never ceased to amaze me that, no matter what season we were in, it was an ever-present aroma. Of course, that was only a small part of Honeysuckle Hollow. Our little Southern town had more charms about it than just its signature scent.

  Walking down Main Street, I relished every step as I passed by the familiar storefronts. My return back to my hometown had been full of excitement, the kind that got most tongues waggin’ and could put others in their graves. It very nearly put me in mine. But here I walked through the center of my town, carefree as a bird, with no worries.

  Approaching the venue for tonight's event, I ran into Sprinkle, who flew into me, calling out last-minute instructions to my friend Alison Kate.

  “You make sure that our bakery is spic-and-span for the morning,” the retired tooth fairy ordered, his high-pitched voice sounding gruffer than usual.

  I did my best not to bat the small flying fairy away from my face. “Don't worry. I'll help Ali Kat clean things up here at Sweet Tooths.”

  Sprinkle cast a frown at me, and I held in the giggle at his tiny stern countenance. “You'd better, Miss Charli. It was against my better judgment to host this infernal event at our place anyway.”

  His business partner, Twinkle, bumped into him in the air. “Oh, Sprink, give it a rest,” she squeaked. “I think it’s fine to let them use our place.”

  Sprinkle glared at her. “Well, I think it's a dumb idea. In a small town like this, who needs a singles mixer? Everyone knows everybody anyway,” the tiny tooth fairy complained.

  “Let's just say that we’re helping out a fellow friend, then,” I offered.

  “Skeeter Jones is no friend of mine. I think y'all are crazy to put your hearts in charge of a fired cupid. And what’s with that name anyway?” Twinkle bobbed up and down, his wings quivering in annoyance.

  “As he tells it, it’s short for his nickname Mosquito,” I explained.

  Perhaps Sprinkle had a point. Why any cupid would stick to that name and not change it, maybe, explained a little behind Skeeter’s failures. “Then let's say that we’re helping a Honeysuckle Hollow resident try to do some good for a select few of the residents. Would you deny someone like Alison Kate a chance to find love?” I shot the verbal arrow where it hurt.

  “Fine,” grumbled Sprinkle, shrugging his shoulders in defeat. For all his grousing, he really did like my friend and wanted her to be happy.

  “Come on, I’ll treat you to a slice of pecan pie at the Harvest Moon Diner,” offered Sprinkle with a quick wink at me. “Extra whipped cream.”

  “Tell Blithe I said hey,” I called out to them as they fluttered diagonally across the street to the only restaurant in town. Blithe, my very stubborn friend, had stuck to her guns and not participated in tonight's event, picking up a late shift at the diner to cement her inability to come.

  With a shake of my head, I opened the door to Sweet Tooths, bells tinkling their welcome. The sight that greeted me stopped me in my tracks.

  “It's awful, isn't it?” Skeeter bellyached, the corners of his mouth pulled down like the sagging lips of an old hound dog.

  He fluttered over to me, his small, pudgy body dipping up and down in the air while his wings worked extra hard to keep him afloat. Although most cupids had the appearance of angelic cherubs, Skeeter looked a bit like a pig that could fly rather than a cute baby.

  He hid the curls of his head under a trucker hat with a big red heart and the word Fart embroidered across it. I didn’t ask him if it meant he liked flatulence or if he thought that Love and Farts were the same because they both stunk. His official uniform of leather belts crisscrossed his almost naked body, a quiver with one red arrow in it resting on his back between his wings.

  Problem was, Skeeter had been enjoying his time in Honey
suckle with all its good food a bit too much. Extra roles of skin tested the strength of the straps. If the cupid got a chance to get his job back, he’d have to workout twice as hard to get back in shape.

  I opened my mouth but found nothing nice to say at first. The bakery on a normal day was splashed with colorful pastels. Tonight, red and pink covered every single surface. I stood at the entrance, gaping at the disaster.

  “The shining lights are…nice.” I focused on the one half-truth about the disco ball reflecting sparkles all over the bleeding mass. Better not lie to a depressed cupid already on the brink of a breakdown.

  Skeeter’s shoulders slumped. “I can never do anything right. Whatever I touch turns to disaster. Y'all are gonna kick me out of Honeysuckle, and then where will I go?”

  When I’d volunteered to help him out, I hadn’t expected to become his counselor. There might not be enough sweet tea in town to bolster me for the job ahead. However, if tonight had any shot at working, we had to get our resident cupid back on track.

  “Take it easy, Skeeter. We don't kick people out of the town for their failures any more than we let people in for their successes. Those in the magical community who want to live in peace with other supernatural beings are welcome.” Growing up as part of one of the founding families made me sound like a cheerleader.

  “Still, this is starting to remind me of the disaster over yonder in Cricket Creek.”

  My stomach did a flip. “What happened in Cricket Creek?”

  Skeeter shook his head, his eyes widening and dread vibrating his overworked wings. “You don't want to know.”

  Stuck between needing to know more with a statement like that and knowing better, I chose to ignore my curiosity and pretend to fix a red streamer back in place.